A history of American environmental ideas: how do personal epiphanies and Romantic aesthetics get turned into politics and law?

A Facebook 25-things list to retake the genre from the snarky knowingness that has been making people shy. (It’s not exactly saving the world economy, but you do what comes your way.)

A playlist to go with my new book on American ideas of freedom. So far Karen Dalton, Chan Marshall and Talib Kweli are prominent, and I’m eagerly soliciting guidance.

What have you been reading, or recommending, lately?

Reading:

Old Congressional debates on parks, forests and wilderness;

lots of judicial opinions on property law;

Walden, again.

Recommending:

“Radical Hope,” by Jonathan Lear, an amazing study of the Crow Nation in the space after its old life became impossible and before a new one emerged — and of that space in general;

“A Fine Balance,” by Rohinton Mistry, to anyone who loved “Slumdog Millionaire” but wanted to press a little beyond its gorgeous confection;

“Mountains and Rivers Without End,” by Gary Snyder, which took two consecutive reads to be good, but then was really good;

William James’s speech at the dedication of the Robert Gould Shaw statue on the Boston Common — a great reflection on constitutional patriotism (I’m passing on a recommendation from my friend David Bromwich here);

de Tocqueville’s “Journey to America,” a less formal and theoretical account of his trip than the famous book, full of comedies of manners and brilliant riffs.

How does the Web help — or hinder — your work?

I’m in the cohort that’s been writing professionally only in the Internet era, so it more constitutes my work than affects it. But when I really want an idea to shape up, I tend to disconnect and take a walk or find somewhere to sit.

One thing that is new, Google Book Search, makes me feel like an antiquarian on a Ducati. A little shift in the seat, a flick of the finger and I know what Bentham said about Blackstone, or have all of Teddy Roosevelt’s speeches in front of me. I felt this way when I first went into Widener Library’s stacks as an 18-year-old, but then I was on foot, with a backpack. This is a new world, and it taps the very old wish to sit in a room and converse with the dead.